


Pins and Needles

by Ships_ahoy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Piercings, Piercingstuck, lots of ridiculous teenagers making bad decisions, uhhh rated explicit for later chapters i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ships_ahoy/pseuds/Ships_ahoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert and most of what you know about Dirk Strider has mostly been gathered from whispered rumors and the gushing words of his younger brother. He rides a motorbike your dad disapproved of, he had enough piercings to make him more metal than some of the robotics he studied at college, and you heard that he's banned from the local cinema for getting too heated with his ex-boyfriend in the back row. </p><p>Despite being best friends with his younger brother, you're fairly sure he doesn't even know your name. Until, one day you catch him looking your way, and he seems determined to convince you otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Jess, who really wanted a pierced Dirk going for the Egbooty. Sorry I took forever to get my ass into gear for starting this, I'm a butt.

The tattoo and piercing parlor sat on the edge of the city center, squashed between a liquor store and a strip bar which had long since closed down. It was the type of area your dad would have driven through only after having rolled up all the windows in his car, and it was the type of street where two seventeen year old's should most definitely not be. But here you were, staring up at the sign which had once read 'Pins and Needles' but now only boasted 'in Need' since half the letters were missing.

Coincidentally, the new name seemed to suit the place, with the black paint beginning to crack and peel from the door, and half the front window haphazardly boarded up where the glass had been smashed. Tinny sounding radio rock music spilled from the cracked open door, reaching you on the sidewalk where you stood next to your best friend.

"Dave, are you sure about this?"

You hear him clear his throat, and when you tear your eyes away from the shop in front, you catch him give a quick shrug of his slouched shoulders. He turns a set of shades your way, and you can see your unimpressed expression in the reflection of the glass.

"Yeah man, this is where my bro gets all his stuff done. He has this friend doin' the same thing as him at college and he works here part time, says I can get my tongue pierced half price."

"But is he, uh, good at it?"

The unease was obvious in your tone of voice, and as much as Dave was trying to seem cool about it all, you could see a slight tension in the way he stood, revealing that he was nervous too.

"Well, he has to be, yeah? I mean my bro comes here and you've seen how many piercings that asshole has."

You find that you don't have much to say in return to that, pressing your lips hard together and letting your attention flicker back out over the store front.

Dirk Strider did have a lot of piercings. 

But Dirk Strider was also the guy who'd been kicked out of his school's anime club for bringing in a real katana, and who'd given himself his own first tattoo when he was only the same age as you were now. Two years later, and nineteen year old Dirk Strider seemed just as fearless as he'd always appeared in your eyes, with his still expression giving nothing away, pointed shades hiding eyes which might have been looking straight at you or staring right through you without any way to be sure.

Honestly, Dave's older brother intimidated the fuck out of you.

"Are you two gonna go inside or stand here wettin' yourselves outside some more?"

_Speak of the devil._

You hadn't even seen him approaching, a plume of smoke slipping past his lips as he comes to a stop beside Dave. You glance his way but he's not looking at you, and you can see his eyelashes from down the side of his shades, a darker blond to Dave's. He takes another drag from his cigarette, dropping it to the floor to extinguish under a heavy biker boot with toes so scuffed they barely resembled the color black any more.

"We were waiting for you, it ain't like we know this Equinox dude."

"Equius."

"Whatever, the guy has a fucking weird name," Dave gives a quiet sniff and you see Dirk's lips give the smallest of twitches downwards before his expression slips back into an unreadable mask. You think he might be glancing your way but it was impossible to tell.

The inside of the parlor faired only a little better than the outside, the walls lined with different tattoo designs, with the papers curling slightly at the corners as though they might all fall from the wall at any second. A glass cabinet displaying metal studs and rings was pushed up against a counter which cut off the front part of the shop to the back, where a distinct sound of a buzzing needle reached you over the sound of the music. 

Dirk simply walks up to the counter and lifts himself up on top of it, heavy boots and skinny jeans swinging over the top to land himself on the other side in one swift motion. He gives a shout out, which is returned from someone at the back of the store, and when you feel Dave shift the tiniest bit closer to you, you drag your eyes away from the walls to fall on the seven foot tall wall of muscle which could only be Equius.

The guy had long black hair falling straight around his face, the tattoo of an arrow running down one tree trunk of an arm and a horseshoe inked on his other. When his lips part, you can see that one of his front teeth were cracked, and he looked just about ready to start a fight with anyone who accidentally bumped into him on the street. He towered head and shoulders over Dirk, but the Strider seemed far from intimidated as they talked together, in fact, it almost seemed as though Dirk was the one who left him seeming nervous.

"How does your brother know this guy again?"

"They study mechanical engineering together at college," Dave says, and you can't help but catch his eye and share a smirk, ultimately thinking of the guy bending metal with his bare hands, "Apparently he idolizes Dirk because he scored the highest in their robotics class."

"He's like a fucking bulldozer."

"Don't let him hear ya, Egbert, he could probably punch you through the damn wind-"

"Hey," Dirk's voice cuts through your conversation, and you both snap your attention back in his direction, suddenly feeling like two little kids caught gossiping in the schoolyard, "Come 'round the back and he'll do it for you now." One gloved hand slips beneath the counter to unlatch a small door, pulling it open to allow the two of you entry into the back area. Dave instantly takes a seat on one of the recliner chairs, tight leather squeaking under his sneakers as he makes himself comfortable, leaving you to stand awkwardly by the counter beside Dirk.

The older Strider leans back against the wood, arms crossing over his chest and gaze fixed ahead of him on the chair rather than acknowledging your existence. Although, the guy had always been like that around you, no matter how much time you spent around Dave's apartment, you'd always be lucky to even receive a small grunt in return to the greetings you sent his way. You figure he doesn't like you all too much, but you couldn't imagine why not.

"Will the other one be getting anything done?" Equius asks as he steps out of a small closet at the back, carrying the piercing equipment with him on a tray. He doesn't look at you or Dave, his eyes nervously flickering across Dirk's face and a light sheen of sweat lining his forehead, as though desperate not to fuck up on impressing him.

"Hah, Egbert's too chicken to get a piercing," Dave cuts in from the chair, and you feel something bristle along your spine in annoyance, brow pulling down.

"Get lost, I'm not a fucking chicken."

"Then get a piercing."

"Maybe I will."

"Go on then."

"Fine!"

You catch his eyebrows tipping up above his shades in amusement, and Equius's hands shaking slightly on the metal tray as he looks to Dirk, seeming to wait for him to confirm what was happening. You exhale a quick, stubborn huff out of your nose, your fingers fumbling to pull your wallet out of your jeans pocket so that you can slap a twenty dollar note down on the counter.

"Give me a piercing, then."

For a moment, there was just a stunned silence in response, only the sound of a man in a separate chair getting tattooed and the crackly music from the radio filling the air between the four of you. You look to each of them, reaching Dirk last, and for the first time since meeting him, you can actually tell that he's staring right at you from behind his pointed shades, lips pressed in a thin line. He's the first one out of all of you to move, tipping forward away from the counter and letting his attention drift back away from you again so that he could speak to Equius.

"If you sort out my little bro, I'll do his friend for ya', you know I can do it," he says, sounding so sure of himself, you wonder if there was ever a time when he didn't sound so damn confident. 

"You don't have the license for it yet, and there are no chairs free-"

"I'll do it in the back room, no one will even see, and come on Zahhak, you know I'm better than half the needlers in this dump without needing a license." Dirk's arms unfold from his chest, shoulders rolling back in a way which makes it seem as though he was smirking, despite his expression not even flinching. And you can see the conflict flash across Equius' expression, his face becoming more shiny before he quickly sets down the tray by Dave's chair and gives a quiet nod and growl of approval.

You only have a second to catch Dave's eye, his expression shocked and almost impressed, before you feel worn leather and coarse fingertips gripping against your arm, pulling you away through the parlor towards the back room Equius had collected his supplies from earlier. It's around this point that it sinks in what on earth you'd gotten yourself into, your stomach dropping in panic and your eyes wildly flying up to look at Dirk as he leads you into the small room.

The walls were lined with shelves and drawers, each housing different equipment, inks and studs, chemicals and documents. There was a slightly medical smell to it, mingled with must and dust which turned your stomach slightly, the bright white light hanging from the ceiling casting dark shadows into the corners of the room. It seemed like a dingy sort of place to receive your first piercing, and you knew that if your dad had been here, he would have dragged you quickly out of there without a single word. But your dad wasn't here, and you were trying your damn hardest not to think of how he would react to you coming home with a piece of metal shoved through your skin.

"Grab that chair from the corner, kid, put it in the middle of the room under the light," Dirk orders and you catch sight of a dusty wooden chair sat squashed next to a filing cabinet, dragging it out with an unpleasant scraping noise against the floor.

"What, uh, what do you think I should get pierced? I mean, I never really thought about it before."

You don't want to sound scared or anything, but you can't deny that your heart was pounding against your chest from nerves, blue eyes darting behind your glasses as you take a seat on the chair. Dirk steps up in front of you, the white light highlighting the sandy blonde hair where it was styled, seeming almost sharp when paired with shadows. He darts a set of fingers out to grip along your jaw gently, causing you jump slightly and frown up at him in confusion. It felt like an invasion of personal space, especially coming from a guy who had previously barely looked at you, never mind touched. But he doesn't release you, instead tilting your head slowly in each direction to analyse you, only releasing once he'd made a decision.

"You'd suit a nose ring. But hey, it ain't up to me what you get."

He moves back across the room, pulling open drawers to grab the right equipment, and you bring a set of fingers to press against the side of your nose in thought. As you see Dirk pull out a covered needle, you find you're not as uneasy as you thought you might be, and as you come to a decision not to back out, all you find yourself worrying about was the fact that your dad was going to kill you for this.

"Sure! A nose ring sounds pretty cool, I mean you have one and it looks okay... Did it hurt? I bet it didn't hurt as much as your tattoos did though."

"It's gonna sting, and you're gonna wanna try not to knock your nose for about a week because it'll hurt like a bitch then," he half mumbles in return, tugging free his fingerless gloves to replace them with rubber medical ones, letting them snap against his wrists in a way which reminded you of some mad scientist. It seemed a little ridiculous, and you hold back a laugh in case it came across too shaky.

"Got it, no shoving my nose into things unless I wa- whoa, excuse me," You tense up instantly as a set of gloved hands grab against your knees to spread them, fingertips digging into your thighs as Dirk settles himself on his knees between your legs. He pays no attention to your little outburst, reaching up to grab the tray of equipment from the surface to the side and letting it drop to the floor by your foot with a clatter. You're pretty sure you've started to blush slightly, although you can't quite figure out why. The guy was only needing to be close to you, it wasn't as if he was unnecessarily deciding to kneel between your legs for the damn crotch shot, was he?

You clear your throat before continuing, "I guess it can't be that bad, I mean there really isn't all that much to a nose in that part is there? It's not like bone or anything, I dunno, and it isn't like it's as thick as getting your tongue done like Dave is. But he's a bit of a stupid ass so- I mean, shit, I'm not saying you've gotta be stupid to get your tongue pierced, I think your tongue piercing looks cool..."

His expression flinches, and for just the smallest of seconds, you see a smirk on his lips before it was gone again and he was back to sorting the items on his tray silently. You decide it was probably a good time to be shutting the fuck up then, instead taking the time to study each of Dirk's piercings in turn. Two in his eyebrow, a ring in his nose, at least five in each ear with bars and studs and stretchers, a pair below his lips, which you're pretty sure Dave had called 'snakebites', and then one through his tongue. Apparently he was planning on getting his cheeks and collarbones pierced when he graduated. You wonder how he made it through airport security without frying the metal detectors.

He gives a heavy sigh and you drag your eyes away from the two studs beneath his lower lip, watching him as he squirted a drop of gel onto one gloved finger. He straightens himself up on his knees, shuffling forward between your legs to come face to face with you in a proximity that has you swallowing hard and suddenly out of words to say. The gel is cool and wet when he spreads it across one side of your nose, explaining that it would partially numb the pain, although the sting would still be a kicker. 

You give a small hum of understanding, picking out freckles across his nose and cheeks you hadn't noticed before, resisting the urge to tip your head back and put more distance between the two of you. Quite frankly, the close proximity made you nervous where you hadn't been before, one of your legs moving against Dirk's hip as you bounced on the toes of your sneaker in an unsettled manner. When he next speaks, you can almost see the movement of his pupils behind the dark glass to shift from looking at your nose to meeting your eye, his voice quiet.

"John, are you sure you want to do this? It ain't worth the pain, effort and money if you're only doing it because of a little bit of peer pressure."

His words leave you surprised, lips parting slightly as you stammer for a reply. You didn't think he even knew your name. He seemed genuinely concerned for you though, his brow pulled down slightly and his lips set in a thin line. You're half tempted say no, thinking that it was the answer he wanted to hear, but that seemed a little silly since you'd come this far and your stubbornness wouldn't let you leave without a piercing to rub in Dave's face. _Besides, Dirk had said you'd suit a nose ring._

"Yeah, I'm sure."

His jaw tenses, and when you send him a toothy grin, he returns it with a slightly confused look, like he couldn't quite figure you out. But the moment passes quickly, and he reaches down for his equipment, giving a small nod and shrug. You almost feel disappointed that he doesn't bother trying to convince you further.

"Okay, you might want to close your eyes, sometimes it can get a bit freaky to watch the needle go through," he says quietly, the plastic of his gloves feeling cool on your cheek as he tilts your face slightly to the side. He hands you a paper towel, instructing you to hold it under your chin before he shifts himself closer again.

You close your eyes quickly, more so to try and block out his close proximity than anything else. You didn't want to be distracted by those unexpected freckles again.

With vision cut out, there's more time to focus on the solid chair you curled your fingers hard against, the occasional brush of your inner thighs against Dirk's hips, the quiet of his breathing compared to the seemingly noisy huffs you exhaled yourself. And then his fingers held against your nostril, barely a second passing before there was a sharp pain flaring up your nose, making your eyes tear up and your brow furrow.

Ow, okay, that _did_ hurt like a bitch.

As the sharp sting dulls to a heavy throb, you release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, feeling hot tears escape down your cheeks despite your best attempts to hold them back. _Wow, way to go look like a damn baby by crying._

"Don't worry, everyone's eyes water, it's a natural response," he says as though reading your mind. His voice is low and soothing in the dark, and you can hear him shift to reach for his tray again.

There was some kind of uncomfortable shifting in your nose, and you feel something drop onto the paper towel you held under your chin. Panic hazes your mind instantly, and you jerk your head back slightly, Dirk's fingers leaving your nose and your eyes snapping open to a spinning room.

"Part of my nose fell out! Part of my nose, I felt it, I-"

"John. That was just the needle."

You look his way, eyes wild, and then you glance down to the towel in your hand and the needle sat on top from when Dirk had pushed it out when putting the ring in. It takes a second for it to sink in, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment and your mouth pulling into a fierce frown. When you look back up at Dirk, he was biting hard against his lower lip, unsuccessfully holding back a laugh since his shoulders were shaking and his lips were tipped up into a grin.

You'd never seen him really smile or laugh before, and the sight is almost enough to dull your mortification as you appreciate the straight white teeth and slight crease in his nose. But, yeah, you were still pretty mortified.

"Oh fuck off."

"Well, Egbert, that's certainly a first time I've seen someone think their nose was falling off."

"It- it wasn't my whole nose it was just, it felt like... god, shut up."

He tips his head down to hide his smile and you glare at the top of his head. You were more angry at yourself really, but it was easier to transfer it across to the smug asshole laughing at you instead.

"Can I finish now?" He asks, eventually looking up at you, the corner of his lips still fixed in a smirk, "The ring is in I just need to put in the fastening and clean it up..."

You send him a quick nod, slumping back against the chair and letting him take the paper towel and needle out of your hand. You hoped he wouldn't tell Dave about this or you'd never hear the end of it.

This time when he moved close again, you kept your eyes open, watching the way he chewed against his lip in concentration as he worked. There was still a dull pain in your nose, and once he was done, he peels off his surgical gloves with a slick plastic sound, letting them drop to the floor. You move a hand upwards, but it stutters to a stop as Dirk's hands reach your cheeks first, his fingers slipping along your jaw so that he could swipe each of his thumbs across your damp cheeks, wiping away any tears that were left.

It seemed like an unnecessary action, one that you easily could have done yourself, but there was something comforting in the notion and touch so you don't question it. You don't question the way he was staring at you through his shades either, as though desperately trying to catch your eye for longer than a second.

What the fuck was with this guy and either being completely aloof or embarrassingly intense?

"Would you like to take a look?"

And as soon as he'd been between your knees, he was tipping back onto his feet again, taking the tray with him and leaving you feeling almost alone, even in a room so small. 

"Sure, of course I do. It's on my damn face after all." 

You stand up eagerly from the chair, crossing your eyes to catch a blurry glint of metal in the light before you focus back on Dirk. He was putting things on the tray back into their correct places again, his indifferent attitude firmly set once more as he languidly holds a handmirror out in your direction over his shoulder. You accept it quickly, putting your back to him to face the light, tilting your head up into it as you raise the mirror.

The skin on your nose was red and sore, but there wasn't any blood like you might have expected, and the small silver ring seemed to fit just right. Excitement bubbles in your gut, a wide grin plastered on your lips as you forget about your previous embarrassment. This was probably the coolest thing you'd ever done, and you couldn't wait to show it to Dave, wondering if girls digged piercings. You think they do.

Your eyes shift in the mirror, and in the reflection you catch sight of Dirk behind you. And suddenly your train of thought comes to a stop, and you could barely care what your dad was going to say or if girls would pay more attention to you. Because Dirk Strider was looking right at you and he wasn't looking away, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips and making something twist tight in your chest. 

"I told ya it would suit you, Egbert."

And you want to make a witty response about how you even got to keep all of your nose, or you want to thank him, or laugh with him over how funny Dave might sound after getting his tongue pierced. But all the words are stuck.

All the words are stuck and you hate yourself for it, because all you can think of are the freckles across his nose and the surprisingly soft pads of thumbs swiping against your cheeks.

_Oh fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't laugh but i'll admit that the whole 'part of my nose is falling out oh my god' part was based on my own personal experience of getting a nose piercing, i'm so embarrass.


	2. Chapter 2

The nose piercing lasts only a weekend. One whole weekend and then your dad wins the war by pointing out that facial piercings were banned at school and your rebellious fightback loses it's edge. Now you had a sore nose but nothing to show for it, and Dave still had himself a tongue piercing but an afterschool detention after refusing to take it out. You're not sure which out of the two of you had it worse.

Shifting your backpack higher up on your shoulder, you navigate the halls of school with a frown, not exactly looking forward to getting home. You didn't want your dad to be all smug about you taking the piercing out and keeping out of trouble. You were seventeen, for fucks sake, maybe you _wanted_ to start a bit of trouble every now and then.

It was a hot day, but the heat wasn't welcome with your bad mood, leaving your skin feeling prickly and your shirt sticking to your back beneath your bag. You almost groan out loud at the sight of the already busy schoolbus waiting to take you on a overheated ride home, but the noise catches in your throat as a different sight entirely catches your attention.

A familiar motorbike was parked up by the side of the road, it's owner stood leaning against the shiny black metal with arms crossed and a stony expression. He wasn't wearing his shades, and it catches you off guard as you approach him, the bright amber of his irises cutting sharper than the points of glass when they find you. Even when he'd been on his motorbike and couldn't wear his shades, you'd only ever seen him with his helmet on, in glimpses as he'd dropped Dave off at your house.

As stupid as it sounded, you'd almost grown used to him not having eyes. 

He blinks, and you see his eyebrows tip upwards slightly in question as you come a stop in front of him. You can't quite meet his eye without it seeming too weird.

"Where's he at?"

"Detention."

He laughs, and the sound is low yet sharp, causing you to send him a crooked grin in response. He pushes himself up away from his bike, only a few inches taller than you and attracting more attention from people than you even thought possible. Parents gave him disapproving glances, frowning at his bike, students talked and stared at the piercings and tattoos, a group of girls standing nearby burst into a fit of embarrassed giggles when he glances their way.

You wonder how he manages to remain so indifferent to it all, as if he didn't even realize he was attractive or different from everyone else. Whoa, did you just think of him as attractive? Weird.

"He's a little hellraiser ain't he? What did he do this time, forget his homework?"

"He refused to take his piercing out and said they were infringing on his human rights to individuality by trying to make him," You grin, feeling the exposed eyes on your skin as much as if he'd reached out to touch you physically. You probably should have found the experience uncomfortable, but there was an exciting flattery to it that was overriding everything else.

Dirk shakes his head slightly, turning to grab at the biker jacket he's flung over the seat, tugging it on over his black wifebeater. You wonder how he could even stand the heat, when you were damn near sweating through your shorts just from standing there. Probably because he was from Texas, as every accented syllable never failed to remind you.

"Stubborn little fucker, he ain't as obedient as you is he?" He taps a finger against the side of his nose, reminding you of your lack of piercing and leaving you flushing in embarrassment. Okay, now you really wish you'd kept it in, and you're stumbling for an excuse when he speaks again, "Shame. It really did suit ya, y'know."

"Yeah, well my dad wasn't exactly a fan of it either, he said I looked like a hoodlum."

"I dread to think what dear Mr Egbert thinks of me, then," Dirk mumbles, swinging his leg over his bike to settle himself on the seat. You don't mention that your dad had often commented on the 'colorful character that drops young Dave off' in disapproval.

"I'm gonna get it pierced again once I graduate though, and maybe get a tattoo as well. I'm eighteen next year so there isn't really much anyone can do to stop me then."

You give a determined nod, fingers twisting against your bag straps and cheeks burning in the silence that follows. He was tightening the fastenings on his fingerless gloves, but his eyes hadn't left you for a second. He seemed to be thinking something over, his expression unreadable again but his eyes sharp and focused when you accidentally meet them with your own blue. Fuck, maybe it was time for you to leave and catch your bus now.

"I've got an hour to kill now. Wanna ride?"

The question has you tensing, eyebrows flying high in surprise before you nod. Wait, fuck, why were you agreeing?

"I, uh, fuck, hold on, my dad would kill me. He hates motorbikes, says they're just deathtraps an-"

"Do you do everything daddy tells you to?"

A shiver runs down your spine, lips parted in surprise for a second as you process his teasing expression, something dangerous about the way he looked at you. You're sure that stronger people than yourself wouldn't have been able to resist. Besides, he was totally right; you were really fucking tired of being the obedient, good kid.

He leans back to pull up the back seat on the bike, his hand disappearing into the compartment below to reveal the spare helmet he kept for Dave, handing it your way. A few seconds pass in limbo, and then the hesitation breaks and you send him a fierce look, snatching the helmet from his grasp.

It's heavy in your hands, shiny and red with a tinted visor to protect from the sun. Dirk grins across to you, snapping the back seat back into place and pulling on his own black helmet, instantly hiding his expression from view once more. You're not sure whether you prefer it from the exposed dagger eyes.

When the engine roars into life, the noise seems to shake your very bones and catch your breath. It attracts the attention of everyone nearby also, and you quickly pull on the helmet to try and shield yourself from their stares, pulling down the visor so that the noise becomes slightly muffled and you could hear your breathing loud in the confined space.

He helps you up onto the back of the bike with a hand gripping against your arm, and suddenly you start to panic. You'd never been on a motorbike before, and it only just occurred to you now that maybe your dad might have been right about how dangerous these things were. Where was the seatbelt? What did you hold onto? Surely not just that handle behind your seat... would the wind get so strong you'd fly off the back? _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Dirk seems to sense your nervousness, because next thing you know, he'd reached behind him to grip against your wrists, yanking them around his middle and leaving you to grip hard against the front of his leather jacket. Your front presses up against his back, ass sliding on the seat so that there was damn near no space between you and him on the seat and it has you swallowing hard. This all seemed a little intimate, but Dirk was warm and solid in your hold, the steadiness of him contrasting with the machine roaring and vibrating between your legs. So you don't attempt to move and grip the handle instead, feeling your breathing pick up a pace when he knocks the bike of it's stand, straightening it up and flicking his wrist back to start it moving.

At first, the ride was terrifying, you'll admit to that. Even going at a fairly slow speed in the busy traffic had your heart racing and your mouth dry each time the bike turned a corner and you were forced to lean into it. It felt like you might topple from it at any second, or like one of the cars Dirk dodged around would swerve to hit the two of you.

By the time the roads become less busy and the speed picks up a bit though, you start to grow a little less scared and a little more excited. And as Dirk hits a stretch of straight road which was fairly empty, his wrist twists the accelerator back and you give an exhilarated laugh, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine as the two of you gained speed. The wind whipped against the sides of your shirt and shorts, cooling you instantly and leaving the skin which was exposed chilled. The grip of your fingers against the front of his jacket doesn't slacken, but you dare to raise your head slightly in order to watch the road give way in front of you, anticipating each lean as you overtook cars.

The only comparison you could make for it was like being on a rollercoaster; it was fast, it was dangerous, but you completely trusted the person operating it to keep you safe. 

Amongst the adrenaline rush and racing heart pressed against the curve of Dirk's back, you had barely taken much time to really think about your surroundings. But as soon as you hit a larger, faster road leading out of town, you start to panic. This definitely wasn't the right direction for your house. Or for Dirk's house, for that matter. In fact, it only just dawns on you now that when Dirk had asked you to take a ride with him, he'd never exactly specified _where to._

The wind picks up along with the new, faster speed limit, the bare skin on your arms and legs starting to feel the sting of it now and your body lurching back just the smallest amounts each time Dirk altered the speed to something faster. Your legs lock inwards in response, thighs gripping like a vice either side of Dirk's hips and arms clinging tighter around his waist. You swallow, but your mouth is dry, and the breathing was loud in your helmet again. 

You tilt your head, and through the tinted glass of your helmet, you latch your attention onto the small gap between the bottom of Dirk's helmet and the collar of his jacket. A peek of lightly tan skin and sandy blond.

_Dirk. Dirk. This was Dirk. If you could trust him to stick a piece of metal through your face, you could trust him not to crash now._

You relax the squeeze of your thighs, breathing out slowly and watching the cars fly past on either side. The wind still cut cold, but the body you were clinging to was warm through the layers of clothes, and hidden behind the shield of helmet, you feel a smile begin to form again. 

The ride doesn't seem quite so scary now, but you're still relieved when the bike tilts and Dirk directs the two of you off onto a smaller road, driving only for a few minutes before turning off again. This road was less traveled, nothing more than a dirt road which had the bike bumping over the uneven surface, kicking up sandy dust behind it's back wheel in it's speed. Occasionally, you'd find yourself jolted forward on the seat, driving your hips up against Dirk in a way which had you squeaking quietly into the stuffy helmet before you tried to wriggle your hips back again. He only ever sent the bike over another dip or bump to jolt them forward again though, and after the third time you'd had to wriggle back, you start to wonder if he was aiming for them on purpose.

The road becomes steep, climbing upwards as the trail cuts into the side of a hill, the speed with which you rode higher having you swallowing hard, trying not to look down over the edge of the narrow road. Dying was not on your list of things to do today.

When the road widens out and you start to slow, you realize that you'd reached the top of the hill. The wide, rocky plain was scattered with patches of dried grass and the occasional threadbare tree, the flat giving way in a sudden drop of cliff on one side, overlooking the entire town below. Something about the place seemed familiar, although you're sure you'd never been here before.

The air seems too quiet and empty when Dirk cuts out the engine, kicking up the stand on his bike to let the weight of it tip sideways. It's only when you see his helmet turn a little in your direction do you remember to loosen your grip around him, your fingers feeling stiff from holding on too tight.

Your head still felt light, and when you swing yourself over the bike to land back on the floor again, your legs feel like mush. God, was it normal to be shaking and breathless like this? _Please don't collapse, please don't collapse._

"Are you okay, man?"

You quickly look his way, and his helmet is off, a faint look of amusement on his face. 

"Y-yeah! Pff, of course." You wave a hand dismissively, the words coming muffled from under your helmet before you tug it off. The air is cool on your heated cheeks, and you dread to think what your hair looked like after being thoroughly squashed. How the fuck did Dirk still manage to look so cool and collected?

"You were really clinging on there, pretty sure you bruised my hips with those thighs of yours at one point," he mumbles, and his tongue darts across his lips in an attempt to hide his smirk. _Smug asshole._

"Yeah well, you could have given me a bit of warning before you start going about a hundred miles per hour on a busy road... I didn't wanna fall off the back or anything."

He rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, hanging his helmet over one of the bike handles and dropping both his feet firmly on the ground again. He makes no move to take your helmet from you, instead reaching into his jacket pocket to pull free a pack of cigarettes, catching one between his teeth before the jacket was slung back over the seat.

You'd never thought smoking was all that appealing. It was something your dad did with a pipe or the stoners did out the back of the school with their nasty smelling blunts. But when Dirk shielded the flame of his lighter from the breeze, his cheeks hollowed slightly to suck in, and there was something about the way the end of the cigarette burnt bright orange to match the eyes that flickered your way. You quickly look away, hands twisting against your helmet and your lips pulling into a small frown as you glanced around. You were starting to realize why this place had seemed so familiar. You'd heard about it before.

"Isn't... uh, isn't this makeout point?"

"Is it?"

He sounds like he stone cold did not give a fuck how many teenagers parked up here to get down and dirty on the backseat of their shitty cars, and when he walks past you, he exhales a string of smoke in your direction which has you blinking. You're not sure why it makes you so frustrated.

By the time you'd moved to rest your helmet next to his jacket on the bike, he'd settled himself down along the edge of the cliff, his back curved in a slouch and his legs hanging over the edge. Beyond him, the town stretched out in a maze of buildings and houses and greens, the grey smoke of his cigarette distorting the view slightly as he directed another plume up towards the sky. It looked right for him to be sat there alone, and he was definitely not making any move to check why you hadn't joined him yet, which made you wonder why he'd bothered bringing you along at all.

As you shuffle closer, kicking a rock over the edge and hearing it tumble down the hill below, your eye catches on the tattoo peeking out from under the strap of his wifebeater. A heart symbol, with pink coloring which was distorted by the gunshot wound he'd had inked into the otherwise pretty design. Dave had told you that he'd gotten it when he'd still been involved with his last ex, Jade's older cousin. You'd met him once when he'd stayed over at their place, a loud guy with a weird accent and shorts that fell too high above the knee. He'd seemed nice enough, but apparently the two of them had ended on pretty rocky terms and the guy had taken his guns and movies and went travelling the world as soon as Dirk went to college.

You figure it must suck to have a permanent reminder of someone you'd loved on your body after he'd left, even if there was the small relief of it being on a shoulderblade where it was less noticeable. But who were you to judge? You'd never been in love.

"Ya gonna sit down or what? Making me all jittery with just standing by the edge like you're gonna jump or somethin'."

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

It seemed cooler when sat down, a gentle breeze cutting through the summer heat and blowing the scent of cigarette smoke in your direction. It's not as unpleasant as you thought it might be, though. It seems to fit Dirk well. The silence that falls over the two of you has you wondering why he brought you out here with him at all if he wasn't going to attempt to talk to you, as per usual, but you don't voice your complaints. In fact, it's him who first breaks the quiet, flicking the butt of his cigarette over the edge of the rock.

"So, what's this idea about you getting yourself a tattoo? They ain't like a piercing, you can't just get rid of them because your dad doesn't like it."

"I know that," you snap back, almost annoyed at his all knowing attitude, "I've been thinking of it for a while... I just don't know what to get or where to get it."

"Hm," His head tilts, and when you look across to him, you catch him analyzing you again as he'd done back in the piercing parlor, except this time the eyes were on full show and sharp as needles, "You'd look good with something across your back, like over the shoulderblades." His hand darts out in your direction, and you feel a fingertip press into one of your shoulderblades until was dragged across your back towards your other shoulder. The contact was unexpected, and you arch your back before thinking about it. But he's already one step ahead of you, his fingers whipping around to press against the shirt over your chest, lowering and circling an area with persistent pressure. "Or here, on your ribs."

"Mhm." It was barely a squeak of a noise, and you quickly clear your throat, angry at yourself for getting a little flustered by simple touches. _What the fuck was with this guy?_ "I, uh, I like your tattoo, across your collarbones... from Sailor Moon, right?"

His eyebrows tip up, and you're not sure if he's amused or impressed, his fingers darting back away from you to absent-mindedly sweep across the skin marked with the words 'In the name of the moon'. Honestly, it was sort of a dorky kind of tattoo, but the fact that you'd known exactly what it was referencing meant you were in no place to judge.

"You like anime?"

"Yeah, well, I used to more when I was thirteen and stuff, but I was sort of really embarrassing when I was thirteen so let's not even go there."

"There ain't a soul in this world that wasn't an embarrassing lil shit when they were thirteen years old, Egbert, I can guarantee you that." He grins, and the humor of it actually reaches his eyes in the most appealing way. You don't admit to him that you couldn't imagine him being half as embarrassing as you had been that age; you didn't want to inflate his ego.

"Yeah well, if I'd had it my way at that age, then I probably would have been sat here with a full sleeve dedication to Nicholas Cage and a chest tattoo of Kakashi Hatake so let's not even joke about it, okay?"

He laughs, and _wow hello there little crease in the nose, we meet again._

"After our parents kicked the bucket, and before I was old enough to drag Dave's ass outta Texas with me, we stayed with our Aunty back in Houston, and she hated everythin' that wasn't American, I swear," He rolls his shoulders back, resting back on gloved palms in the dirt, "She wouldn't let me watch any anime at all, so I used to wait until she was asleep and sneak into the living room just to watch my Gundam DVD's at three in the morning. Sometimes Dave would join me if he couldn't sleep and then the old bat would get so pissed to find us both asleep on the couch in the mornin'."

"Wow, what a bunch of dorks."

"Yeah, alright, Mr Narutard."

You swipe a hit at his arm, but it doesn't stop him laughing. There was something endearing about his little story you couldn't quite shake, as though you'd never thought of him having past experiences that didn't involve him riding a motorbike, and giving himself a tattoo, and being generally far cooler than you.

"Dave really looks up to you, y'know. He never stops talking about you sometimes."

He quietens down a bit at that, his eyes becoming distant again as he looks back out over the town below. You'd give anything to have the ability to read minds at that point, trying to pick up any little movement that might give away his thoughts as he pulls the cigarette packet from his jeans pocket. He offers you one silently but you shake your head in decline, which he doesn't seem surprised by.

"Yeah, well, I damn near raised him for the past five years didn't I? Only two years difference doesn't mean shit when suddenly I'm all he has in terms of someone to guide him," He pauses, turning the cigarette over in his fingers and then snapping back into a signature smirk, glancing your way as he catches the cigarette between his teeth, "What do _you_ think of me?"

You stare him down with narrowed eyes for a second, feigning a look of deep thought before you shake it away with a quiet laugh. Suddenly, it seemed right to shift yourself closer to him, shuffling along the edge so that your arm brushed lightly up against his own. As he's lighting up his cigarette, the flame turns the metal of his piercings orange, and you catch the flicker of his eyes in your direction in response to you moving.

"I think... you aren't as badass as you claim to be."

His hand lowers from shielding the flame, a fresh stream of pale grey smoke spilling from his lips. And then he smiles, and for once, you feel like you've maybe said just the right thing.


	3. Chapter 3

It's a week before you see Dirk Strider again, but it's not like you've been counting the days or anything. When he'd dropped you off back at your house after spending his hour with you, he'd barely even said goodbye. Just a small salute with two fingers against his helmet, and then he was gone in a roar of a bike engine and you had been left wondering exactly what had just happened.

For all the time you'd been best friends with his younger brother, you could probably count the number of times Dirk had talked to you on one hand. He'd certainly never gone out of his way to make conversation or show concern for you like he'd done at the parlor, he'd never encouraged touches like when he had pulled his arms around his middle on the bike. He didn't know you, he couldn't possibly, yet he talked to you as if he did. He asked you what you wanted to study at college and told you about his own studies, making your measly biology course sound far too easy. It was easy to forget that he was as intelligent as he was sharp and controlled. A robot broken only by the occasional smirk and cigarette.

You don't know what to think of him, and you're almost glad to have some time out of his fierce gaze, even if it was only for a week. But you couldn't avoid him forever, especially when you had a best friend as ridiculous as Dave Strider. A best friend who'd invited you and your friends to his place for a sleepover he claimed was the height of irony. He'd bought popcorn and nail varnish and everything, wasting no time at all before insisting Rose made him look pretty. You spend most of the night playing video games with Jade, the four of you lying in a mess of tangled limbs on Dave's bedroom floor. It makes you sad to think that soon you'd all be heading to different places for college, and there wouldn't be anymore time for laughing at Dave's raps or letting Rose judge who won out of a wrestling match with Jade. You always lost, but that was beside the point.

In fact, it wasn't difficult to simply forget that you were yet to see Dirk since getting to the apartment. There was too much time spent breathing in nail varnish fumes, recieiving bare footed kicks in the side each time you tried to impersonate someone from the movies you kept playing in the background. Soon enough, you found your face buried in a pillow shared with a Lalonde, one of your legs squashed under the body weight of a Harley, and a younger Strider's cheek pressed into the curve of your back. You hadn't even thought about Dirk as sleep finally took you, which was exactly as it should have been. He'd probably not been thinking about you either.

But then again, no amount of willing yourself not to think about him would stop you from waking up in the middle of the night, needing to pee but being too scared to leave the room in case he was there. 

God, this was ridiculous. You know there's nothing to be scared about, and you try to think about the teenage boy sat on his aunty's couch watching Gundam at three in the morning rather than the stony expression and heavy biker boots. But it's difficult, and in the end, the only thing which makes you move is the fact that your friends really wouldn't appreciate you wetting the bed when they were lying right next to you. _Wow, pathetic._

You don't bother putting on the jeans you'd abandoned earlier, and you have to shift the waistband of your boxers straight again after navigating your way out of clinging hands and sleep heavy bodies on the bed. You're pretty sure Dave had drooled down the back of your shirt. No doubt he was already shifting in your absence to cling to a new person to inflict his saliva upon.

The door squeaks when you open it, and even trying to keep your footsteps quiet doesn't exactly work when you're in such a rush to reach the bathroom. The apartment seemed quiet enough though, and you foolishly allow yourself to relax into the assumption that everyone was asleep. It puts you at ease more than you'd like to admit, and you don't bother to calm the bed hair you pull a face at in the bathroom mirror. In fact, you're probably brave enough to head to the kitchen and get a glass of water, just like you'd done a thousand times before when staying at Dave's place. There was nothing different about this time around.

Except there was.

Because _oh fuck, oh fuck,_ there he was as you rounded your way out of the bathroom towards the kitchen. He hadn't seen you, considering he was sat in the living room with his back to you, only his head and shoulders visible over the top of the couch where you were stood by the doorway. But you could see the way his shoulderblades pushed together under his vest as he leaned forward, mumbling to himself over a set of circuit boards he'd laid out on the coffee table, screwdriver fixed behind his ear, the metal darker than his piercings. You're pretty glad you remembered to put on your glasses if only to catch those details of him.

Mouth too dry, now you _really_ needed that water for some reason. So you recoil back into movement, tearing your eyes away from him to sneak past the living room doorway into the kitchen. It's not as if you were actively avoiding him by doing this, right? You just didn't want to disturb him from his work, and he probably didn't want to talk to you anyways. Yeah, you're sure that's it.

Thoughts scattered, you reach up for the top cupboard without thinking, years worth of Strider experience going down the drain as you realize your mistake too late. You never simply opened cupboards in this place without being prepared first. Which was exactly why you found yourself staring straight at the sharpened end of a katana slipping from it's place to head for your face. Of all the ways to die, you aren't sure whether a sword through the eye is a really lame or really cool method.

You don't get to find out that day though, because no sooner had you let out a yelp and a stumble backwards, the sword had halted in it's path for your head. A set of gloved fingers curled tight around the leather handle, holding the point near inches away from your skin and making you swallow hard from the close call. You hadn't even heard Dirk leave the living room. _God damn Strider, too fast and quiet._

"H-hah, thanks!"

Your smile is shaky but it isn't returned, his own lips twitching into a small frown before the expression turns neutral again. He was wearing his shades, and you noted that his hair was a little messier than what you were used to seeing, most likely because of the late hour. You wished you could see his eyes again.

"You ain't very careful, are ya?"

"I could argue that you're the careless one by leaving swords in kitchen cupboards in the first place."

"You could, but you wouldn't. You're too good to be startin' arguments in a kitchen at four in the mornin'."

"Clearly not good enough considering I'm up at this time in the first place."

"Yeah, well, everyone needs to pee."

And at last, you see his mouth slip into a smug grin, leaving you to gape back at him out of want for a reply. He'd heard you going to the toilet, he'd known you were up all this time. Of course he had.

He swings the sword up out of your face, expertly turning the handle through his fingers to spin it slowly. He eventually tightens his grip again to bring the blade hard down against a half eaten takeout pizza on the counter, cutting himself a slice. He doesn't seem to want to be going anywhere after picking the slice up though, and you find yourself mentally preparing yourself to be under the firing line of his sharp words and confusing stares once more.

"If you'll excuse me, I was rather busy," you say with a quiet sniff and upturn of your nose which he seems to find amusing. You swat a hand against his side to shift him out of the way of the cupboard and reach up for a glass, trying not to look across to the pair of dark shades which had fixed themselves on you. Wow, you really wish you'd put on those jeans now. You were showing more leg than his ex had done with those ridiculous shorts he'd worn.

He leans up against the fridge as you move to fill the glass with water, eating his pizza quietly with one ankle hooked behind the other. His feet were bare, and you hate how all you can think of was how your dad had once told you never to trust people who didn't wear socks under their shoes. Jeez, what a stupid thing to judge someone for. You're pretty sure you'd put more trust in Dirk over the past week and a half than you had with anyone in your life; first with shoving metal through your nose and second with not getting you killed on the back of his bike.

"You didn't tell Dave we spent time together last week."

It was a statement more than a question, and you push your glasses further up your nose with a shrug.

"What of it?"

"Nothing. Just seemed a little strange to not tell your best friend you spent an hour with his brother at makeout point."

"It wasn't like that!"

He grins. _God, what an asshole._

There was a strange sort of silence after that, your frown pressed to the lip of the glass as you take silent drinks of water, listening to the buzz of the fridge and the quiet dripping from a tap not turned tight enough. He's finished his slice of pizza, but he doesn't move from his spot across the room from you. What gets to you is the way he seems too still, as if he'd gone into standby mode with his eyes still locked on you from behind the screen of his shades, his arms crossed over his chest. His smile had dropped away, but every few seconds, you caught him chewing against his lower lip as though agitated or in thought.

It didn't seem right to just excuse yourself or walk out. He clearly had something to say or do rather than creep you out with his staring and his standing there... but you'd finished your water, and now things were growing too awkward for you to stand. 

Acting on a natural habit to always try and lighten the mood, you lazily reach behind to dip your hand into the eggholder behind you on the countertop, pulling three eggs out. You don't say anything, but you send Dirk a small smile and tip of your eyebrows as if to signal for him to get ready. As if you were about to do something really impressive, something that would literally blow his god damn socks off if he wasn't already not wearing any. 

With a small cough to clear your throat, you start to hum a quiet circus tune, chucking the eggs up to juggle them between two hands. Never before has your summer spent at circus camp when you were ten come in so handy.

You were a little out of practice, but after a few turns around, you really get into your stride with chucking the eggs higher, a proud grin spreading on your lips. With most focus spent on watching your hands, there was little attention to be spared on keeping track of Dirk's whereabouts, which is exactly why you can't help but jump when he slides in directly in front of you. You give a noise of surprise, the eggs slipping to hit the floor with a series of cracks and splats in turn.

"Fuck, sorry, I'll clean that u- oh."

His hands were on your hips, and whatever the words had been, they were gone now. Because he was awfully close to you now, and not stopping in his approach, so you find yourself pressing back against the kitchen counter nervously. His fingers splay, pressing over the waistband of your boxers, his thumbs slipping under your shirt to catch a touch of bare hipbones in his grasp. When you glance up, the first thing you see is the glint of metal studs below his lips before you shift your eyes to find the outline of his own behind the dark glass.

You swallow, breath catching and fingers grasping back to curl against the edge of the counter behind you. His nose bumps up against yours, and you could count the freckles on his cheeks if you had the focus of attention for it. You think he's going to kiss you. 

He's going to kiss you and it's taken you this long and for him to have you pressed against a kitchen counter for you to damn realize you want him to.

But the meeting of lips doesn't quite come, and you can feel him let out a shaky breath against your skin before he speaks.

"You remind me of him."

"Of Jake?"

You sound too scared compared to the low sureness of his own voice, and honestly, you're surprised you were capable of saying anything at all. His expression flinches at your words though, tiny movements he can't hide from you when you're already so close. You can feel his legs shift slightly, and there was rough denim brushing up against the exposed skin of your thighs, his eyelids dropping closed and his head tilting.

He was still going to kiss you, this was it. You hadn't fucked up, you hadn't said the wrong thing. But still _oh god this was a terrible, dangerous idea._

The lips tip towards your own, and your eyes squeeze tightly shut and there was a hammering of blood in your ears and a squeaking and- shit, wait. _A squeaking?_ Dirk moves back so quickly, you feel the air unsettle where he had been. His touch was gone, his breath was gone, _he_ was just gone. He'd flashstepped out of the kitchen, leaving you still tense and pressed against the counter, lips waiting for a kiss that wouldn't come since Dave's bedroom door had opened.

A few seconds pass and then a very tired and confused younger Strider padded his way into the kitchen, his sleep weary red eyes giving you a confused look. He probably hadn't even realized that you hadn't been in the bed when he'd left. You quickly relax your stance, swallowing hard as his gaze lazily shifts downwards.

"Why the fuck are there eggs all over the floor?"

You release all your breath at once in a quiet laugh, dodging around the mess on the floor as you push yourself away from the counter. Your legs still felt a little shaken up, but you prayed it wasn't noticeable. At least not to someone as half dazed as Dave was right then, his fingers clumsily reaching for his own glass of water. You step up to ruffle his blond hair and he sends you the foul look of a too tired Strider, leaving you to quickly escape with a grin.

"I'll clean it in the morning!" You call as you step out of the kitchen, feeling something heavy pull at your grin as you step up to the doorway to the living room.

He was sat back on the couch again, pulling the screwdriver from behind his ear, shoulders tense. He doesn't turn your way, but you know he knows you're there. He doesn't even look at you. Dirk Strider simply kept his attention firmly fixed on his circuit board as you give a scared frown and quietly slipped back to Dave's room.


	4. Chapter 4

You dream about him one night. He sits at the end of your bed and watches you from behind dark shades as you approach. Once close enough, you notice how waxy his skin seems, pale as porcelain instead of the usual light, freckled tan which made him caramel, and gold, and bright amber eyes. This Dirk was cold to touch, not a hair out of place, his biker boots pitch black and unscuffed, gaze never leaving you even to blink. You lean in and kiss him, but the lips don't respond, and when you press an ear against his chest, there is a fast ticking and whirring sound instead of a heartbeat. He was a machine you didn't have a manual for, not broken, just simply something you didn't understand how to use.

The dream had left you waking in a restlessness, your mind wracked with questions you couldn't answer. How could he almost kiss you and then go a whole week without even looking at you? Had he realized that you weren't Jake and lost interest? Why couldn't you _just stop thinking about him?_

You could hate him, but you don't, even though you really want to. Because he was being damn unfair by messing your thought processes about like this, and you were growing tired of the careful looks and quiet nods he responded with every time you tried to even just greet him. He owed you an explanation, and you were determined to get it if it killed you.

There was always a way into the Strider apartment, and all it took was asking if Dave wanted to play the new video game you'd just bought and he was opening the door up for you. Getting in the same room as Dirk was never the hard part, it was finding the time and courage to talk to him that you always found yourself stumbling. But it seemed that you'd even fallen at the first hurdle this time around.

"Dirk's out so we've got the place to ourselves, and I just ordered pizza so you-"

"Out?"

Dave gives a confused look before realizing you were talking about Dirk and he gives a shrug, "Yeah, he went out for the night with some friends, he knows a guy that can get them into a bar underage so he spends most weekends there with them."

_Fuck, there goes the plan of talking with him._

If Dave notices that you fall quiet after that, he doesn't mention it. In fact, your best friend was pretty good at finding words to fill any silence that fell between you with such ease, it was barely even required for you to contribute much more than an occasional agreement or laugh at his jokes. He beats you every time at the game, and doesn't mention how you barely take two bites of pizza, and for that you're grateful. You'd hate to have to sit and explain that the reason you were so distracted was because of his older brother being a confusing dick towards you.

It's a few hours later, when the pizza box was empty and the digital clock on Dave's bedside table read nearly midnight, that there was the sound of the front door opening and closing with a slam. The noise seems to shake through the whole apartment, and the characters on the screen are quickly paused in the following silence, Dave's head turning towards his bedroom door in confusion.

"Fuck, somethin' ain't right, he's never back this early..."

You hate to admit it, but your heart jumps up into your throat, making it difficult to swallow as you drop your game controller to scramble after Dave as he moves to leave his room. You'd resigned yourself to not being able to see Dirk tonight, you weren't prepared enough now to face him without feeling sick with nerves. You couldn't take another chilly glance sent your way from an expressionless face.

But as soon as you rounded your way into the hallway and finally laid eyes on him, none of it seemed to matter anymore. Because there was blood, caked dark and thick across Dirk's lips and nose, one of his cheeks red and slightly swollen, and his normally so carefully styled hair a mess of dark blond. He sends the two of you a fierce glare, his shades nowhere to be found, his hands shaking with bruised and bloodied knuckles peeking out from under his leather gloves.

"Holy fuck, what happened?"

It's Dave who finds it in him to speak first, heading towards Dirk only for his brother to shake his head and push him back gently. You can't move from where you were frozen in the doorway, and your mouth was too dry to find the right words to say. Honestly, Dirk looked terrifying, with his jaw tense and his breathing fast as he kicked off his boots angrily, his words sounding too sharp when he finally speaks.

"Some god damn asshole in the bar tried to spike Roxy's drink and I caught him. The fucker tried to call me fucking liar so I shoved him and... let's just say the guy's stronger than he looks and now I'm banned after tryin' to fight him off." 

"Jesus Christ, Dirk, call the fuckin' cops on that dude."

"No, fuck, just leave it."

He pushes his way past a worried brother, ignoring Dave's further attempts to get him to describe what the guy had looked like, his expression stony. And you know you should just keep quiet, not get involved when things already seemed so tense between the two of you. But you can't keep back your words as he passes by you in the doorway.

"You should at least let us clean you up!"

He pauses in his stride, looking across to you in such an intense way, you almost flinch back out of fear that he would start punching you too. But the punches don't come, and you feel like a deer caught in the headlights under his stare. "Your nose looks pretty beaten, that's all, and those knuckles could do with some frozen peas to stop them from swelling, or ice wrapped in a towel would do..." You trail off at the small twitch of his brow downwards, his expression seeming more sad than angry now before he quickly turns his head away and stalks down the hall without a word. You hear the quiet click of his bedroom door closing, and it feels like you and Dave had been left in the wake of a storm with the silence that follows.

Neither of you particularly felt like playing video games after that. Dave says it would be rude to disturb your dad so late, so you could stay over for the night, but you know that all he really wants is the company. You couldn't bring it in you to decline, as much as you wanted to run home and forget about Dirk, and forget about the sad way he'd looked at you as if he _knew_ he was in the wrong but didn't know how to fix it.

So you find yourself once more staring at a bedroom ceiling that wasn't your own, the quiet ticking of Dave's bedside clock counting down the seconds and minutes. One of your arms had been taken in Dave's grip, the blond's sleeping face squashed against your elbow and his knee digging in against your hip. From along the hall, you could hear the sound of loud rock music playing, muffled by doors and walls between you and him. Him. Dirk. _You needed to talk to him._

You wished for sleep to come and take you, but every time you closed your eyes it was the robot dream Dirk you saw, his piercings welded onto his skin like bolts and screws. A quiet clicking of a door opening has you fully conscious again, the music growing a little louder and clearer before muffling again as the door is closed once more. A second later, and the light shining through the gap under Dave's door is interrupted by the shadows of two feet, and you hold your breath. The shadows don't move, he was simply stood outside the door, not knocking, not speaking... just standing.

It lasts a few seconds, and then as if in a change of mind, the shadows move back in the direction they'd come from again, and you realize he was heading back to his room. You move before your sense can catch up with you, squirming out of Dave's grasp carefully and padding across his room with bare feet. The door squeaks quietly when you slowly open it, the light making you blink as you slip out into the hallway and pull the door closed behind you.

He's heard the squeak of the door, because when you look across, he'd turned to face you along the hall, his mouth set in a thin line and his eyes blinking back at you. He'd made an attempt to clean up the blood under his nose, the skin still smudged here and there with a dark red, and when you let your gaze flicker down, you think you can see the damaged knuckles half covered in bandaids. You'd left your glasses back in Dave's room though, and he was blurrier than you might have liked when stood at a distance.

So you do the only thing that seemed to make sense, and wordlessly move closer, blood pounding loud in your ears as he watches you silently, his lips parting as if to say words that didn't come. You get close enough to see his gaze flicker down to the bare thighs peeking from under your boxers, and then his eyes snap back up to yours. They aren't as sharp as they usually are, and you realize he'd been drinking. Vodka, you could smell the strong cut of it through his usual scent, and you consider turning back. You couldn't possibly talk to him when he was like this... but you still don't turn away.

"Did you put ice on those knuckles like I told you to?"

He blinks, staring blankly for a second before his expression contorts and he gives a sarcastic laugh, the sound seeming harsh and cruel and missing the crinkle he usually got in his nose when he smiled. You furrow your brow in response, annoyance bubbling in your chest.

"Have ya come to check up on me? Doctor Egbert, show me ya god damn credentials then I'll take ya advice, hm?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Your voice comes louder than you'd intended, and you see the mocking grin on his face flinch and slip away under your glare. You're not ready to let up though, in fact, you're only getting started. "Seriously? You're literally the most difficult person to handle I've ever met. You switch attitudes faster than a flipblade, you act like you're better than me, cooler than me, _more_ than me. You're harsh and cold, and you _dare_ to try and take some of my body heat with your insistence on touching, like you actually give _a fuck_ about anyone other than yourself."

"Take that back," he snaps, his expression turning dark as he steps forward. He was trying to make himself seem bigger than you, but without his heavy biker boots, he wasn't really all that much taller than you, and you refuse to be intimidated. 

"No. It's true."

"Shut the fuck up, you little _brat_. Do you even have any idea how much less I care about myself compared to others? Do you even know how _difficult_ it is to always be the strong one when you have to juggle a college degree, and people tiptoeing around ya just because of one stupid fuckin' ex, and a little brother to take care of, and his friend... and his friend who..." 

He seems to run out of steam, dark pupils jittery in amber irises as they study your face, his lips twitching down into a frown which seems broken. You swallow hard, waiting for him to explain what it was that you had done wrong. But the sentence isn't completed, and you can barely stand this any longer.

You reach for the front of his wifebeater first, a set of nails scratching against his collarbone as you curl your fingers into the collar and tug him forward. Bruised knuckles curl into fists in response, but you know he won't hurt you. The steady body you'd clung to on the back of his bike seemed ready to crumble now, tense but unsteady as you move right up into his face, returning his glare.

He breathes out hot against your skin and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. You lean in, and you kiss him, and it feels so much more like relief than anything else. Relief from all the tension and hurt, relief from all the confusion as you feel him press back against your lips after a second of hesitation. He was kissing you back, and when his hands reach you, it's not out of anger, but a hand holding the back of your head, bandaid mottled fingers burying in your bed hair, slipping around your waist to tug you closer. And it feels like _finally._

Your palms find his cheeks, feeling his head tilt as he catches your lower lip between his own, sucking and pressing gently until you match the movement and suddenly all there is in the world is him. Him and his kiss, and the cool brush of metal as your bottom lip brushes over a piercing, and the slight curl of fingers in your hair, and the way he isn't cold at all when you press your body up against his. He's hot, and tan, and his chapped lips soon soften under the swipe of your tongue. 

It doesn't seem to take long at all for the pace of the kiss to speed up, and you find yourself welcoming the drags of teeth he makes with his persistent bites, the tightening of his arm around your waist to pull you more flush against him. It gets difficult to keep up with the fast way he moved his lips, and you're breathless, heavy breaths pushing past your nose and joining the soft noises of lips meeting in the hallway. And then his mouth was moving to kiss your jaw, dipping to latch against the skin of your throat. You jolt up against him, a soft choke of a noise slipping free at the harsh sting of teeth as he sucks the skin up, marking you, dragging his tongue piercing along the curve of your neck.

There was blood rushing south, fingers running down to his chest and along his arm to pick out the slight muscle before you gripped at it hard. His voice was in your ear, quiet and low with that warm southern accent.

"God, can you please just fuck me?"

You can actually feel your heart threatening to break free of your ribcage, and you swallow hard. _Where had all the angry confidence you'd had before gone now?_

"You... want _me_ to fuck _you_?"

If anything, you'd always presumed Dirk to be the more... dominant one when it came to this kind of thing. Everything about him screamed control and command and intimidation. But here he was, asking you to fuck him with a whisper in your ear, and you didn't know if you could go through with this. You couldn't possibly do this, right? 

"I want to feel it, I want to feel you fuckin' break me, John. Just damn fuck me."

He leans in again, catching the lobe of your ear between his teeth gently, slipping a hand beneath your shirt to run fingers along the bare skin of your back, and _fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, you were going to fuck him._

You grip at his hips, and shove him against the wall with a gentle thud he seems to enjoy, because he gives a devilish grin and his eyes are bright in excitement, skin speckled in dried blood and freckles in equal measure. The skin on your neck was still throbbing from where he'd marked you as his own, and you think it's only fair to return the gesture. You gently kiss against the exposed skin of his collar, sucking up the skin between your teeth in the hollow just above the bone, until you feel his hands gripping against the back of your shirt desperately. His leg pushes up between your thighs and you slip forward accordingly, positioning your body up against his, the two of you tangling limbs and rolling hips to gain friction you were both beginning to greatly appreciate.

You press your chest to his, and for a moment, you can feel the fast thud, thud, thud, of his heartbeat. It wasn't a whirring or a ticking, he wasn't the machine in your dreams anymore, and this time when you kissed him he was more than responsive. You still didn't understand how to work him, but as he reached to open his bedroom door, grabbing your shirt to push you through it with a smirk, you're pretty sure you were about to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to wait until the next chapter to read the actual frickle frackle stay tuned listeners B)


	5. Chapter 5

The bass of his music was loud and heavy, vibrating straight through you, adding it's own fast beat to the pounding of blood in your ears. There were lyrics, but you scarcely had the time to distinguish them, when it was so much more satisfying to hear the soft pants for breath and occasional quiet groan shared between the two of you instead.

Your clothes were scattered on the bedroom floor along with his own, a messy trail leading from the door to the bed, where you had him beneath you, only two pairs of boxers remaining between you. Knees straddling either side of his hips, your back curves to grant you his kiss, which had barely been broken since entering his room apart from to remove offending articles of clothing.

The vodka he'd been drinking tastes sharp, but you kiss him as though desperate to cut your tongue. There was nothing careful in the way lips desperately mashed together, his teeth sinking hard into the soft flesh to hear your breath hitch, metal piercing clinking gently against your teeth as his tongue invades your mouth. And you breathe him in, suck, bite, tug him in. His inked skin was yours to run your shaking fingers over, his low groans yours to savor every time you rolled your hips down to grind into his hardness.

He still wore his fingerless gloves, the beaten leather soothing the skin between your shoulderblades before the harsh sting of his dragging nails heat the skin up in thin red lines. It makes your knees shake slightly against the bedsheets, your eyes snapping open as you feel a second hand curl around your throat possessively. He squeezes, and the kiss breaks in your gasp for air, his thumb pressing firm against your windpipe and sending you into a wild panic.

His eyes meet your own, and they're bright even in the dim lighting of his room, screaming for trust. _Trust, trust, trust, thumbs wiping tears after needles, and warm, solid bodies to cling to on motorbikes._

You calm, and the grip slackens again, granting you the air you'd been denied and the adrenaline rush that soon follows from sense of danger he'd caused. It spurs your hips to rock against his own faster, and you watch his back arch in satisfaction. There was a new tattoo you'd never seen before, a sword inked in black down along his left side, straight lines rippling against a rib cage that he pushed up away from the bed.

And this guy wanted you to fuck him. _God._

His lips were already working against your collarbone, his head tipped up to allow him to bite and suck against the skin, and you slip a hand around the back of his head, fingers burying in hair sandy and messy despite the amount of product used to try and tame it. He was drunk from lust as well as alcohol, but it seemed that even so, he kept his marks carefully placed on your skin. You would have a litter of bruises to count along your collarbones and directly under your jaw, but none for others to see along the stretch of your neck. You were too far gone to question it though, and it certainly didn't stop yourself from sucking large, sloppy red marks up against his own throat.

"Fuck, fuck, come on," he growls, his fingers grabbing at your hair to try and push you down, "Lower. Now."

You'd never heard him sound more feral with his orders, and this was the dominant Dirk you'd always imagined. You glance up and watch him wet his lips with a swipe of tongue, lip piercings dark silver in the low light. You barely recognize your own movements until you'd trailed kisses half way down his chest, the mattress creaking under the shift of weight as you crawled yourself down his body slowly. It was embarrassing how easy you were to take up his orders considering _you_ were the one supposed to be fucking _him_ , and you found your brain scrambling for ways you could try and get a one-up on him to bring the control back in your power.

Your lips hit the trail of dark blonde hair at his navel, trailing down below the waistband of his boxers and you pause, instantly forgetting about trying to gain some dominance. It seems to hit you exactly what was required of you right now, and a flash of awkward panic tightens your chest.

You'd had a girlfriend before. She'd let you kiss and grind fully clothed, and one time she'd even let you fondle her over the top of her bra. But apart from that, your experience in the bedroom came to an embarrassing nil points. And when it came to pleasuring _guys_... well, you hardly think that four years of jacking your own dick off counted.

"Problem?"

Eyes darting up, you see Dirk propped up on his elbows watching you. His hips twitched and stirred on the bed beneath you, obviously frustrated by your close proximity to the prominent tent in his boxers yet hesitation to act. Your mouth falls open to speak, but for a good few seconds, you simply find yourself gaping for words, the loud rock music being the only thing to prevent an awkward silence.

You see his brows twitch down, and you feel like you've disappointed him already, like you haven't trusted him enough to let him in your mouth. But then there were fingers running through your hair and you catch a smirk which sends a shiver down your spine. "Just spit, lick and suck. Watch the teeth. It ain't scary." There was something smug in the way he said it, and it brought back the frustrated need to put him in his place again.

"Fuck you."

"That's what I'm waiting for."

Your hand finds his chest, shoving against it hard enough to send him roughly flat against the bed again, dark brows pulled down in a fierce determination before you yank down his boxers in one quick tug against the shorts. You hear him give a soft hum in appreciation of your roughness, but you were too distracted to read anything into it. The glint of metal had caught your attention, and you found yourself staring incredulous at the two piercings you _definitely_ hadn't known about. They sat parallel with each other on the rim of Dirk's head, curved barbells with four small silver balls against the swollen red of his tip and length.

"I bet they hurt like fuck."

"Jesus, Egbert."

"I wouldn't let a needle go anywhere near my dick, that's for sure."

"John."

"Although I imagine a tattooed dick would hurt more. Like those guys that get dragons and shit ta-"

"John, suck my fucking dick."

You quickly shut up, expression contorting in a look of embarrassed apology before you settle yourself on your knees between his legs, taking him in your palm. He was already hard, beading precum in anticipation, but you take the time to slowly stroke him at first, assessing how to move first. He was no bigger than you were, smaller even, which gave you a small air of triumph among the nervousness wracking your thought processes. But you couldn't just sit and think about it forever, especially with your own erection impatiently demanding some kind of attention soon.

You lean down and wet your lips. _You can do this, you can do this, he's hard for you. For you._

The salty taste of the precum hits you first as you swipe a wet tongue over his tip, pulling back an inch to spit against his head. He moans when you close your lips around him, although you hardly think you're performing all too well at the moment, focusing on swirling your tongue around his tip and feeling the metallic bumps of his piercings grow wet under your attention. You breathe in heavy through your nose, sink your lips a little lower along his length to take more of him in before sucking your way back up. He enjoys that, because his fingers have found your hair again, gripping against it tight as you start to ease into the motion.

You learn that he groans loudest when you focus on his tip, and it doesn't take long for your confidence to grow along with the speed you bobbed your head and slid your hand around the rest of his length. Saliva coated your lips and chin, tongue lapping at any precum that spilled free, hot and sticky and soon lathered against the piercings you teased.

You probably looked like a hot mess. You probably looked like you were maybe enjoying sucking his cock far too much. But to be honest, you couldn't deny the illusion of power it gave you over him. At least for that moment, the intimidating, controlling, older Strider was nothing more than a groaning, squirming bitch with shaking legs and a total reliance on you to provide him pleasure. And you loved it.

It was easy to get carried away with what you were focusing on, and when you felt him shift a little beneath you, you found yourself surprised when you opened your eyes. He'd spread his legs a little further to make way for the hand he'd snaked down beneath the two of you. His fingers were shiny and slick and you pull your lips free to take a breath, wondering when he'd gotten the lube out.

You didn't want to look back up to Dirk and check though, eyes shamelessly fixed on the finger now pushing up against Dirk's entrance, pressing up slowly into him before it was joined by a second digit in a slow thrust. He was preparing himself for you, spreading himself in a show you couldn't stop watching, despite knowing that he was probably feeling really smug about making you stop to watch by now.

"John."

His voice was clipped and low, and you tear your eyes away just after he'd managed to press a third finger up into himself. He was biting at his lip, eyes half lidded and expression equally showing lust and discomfort from the stretching. He looked almost vulnerable, and you're reminded that he was the most naked person in the room. For once, Dirk Strider was bare, and open, and painfully easy to read as beckoned you closer with a tip of his head. And you comply, crawling back up his body and keeping yourself propped up over him, aware of the slow thrusting of fingers still moving below.

You lean in and kiss him, feel the shake of his breath on your lips and the brush of a metal ring when you bump noses. You were both as desperate as each other, not caring what the contact was so long as you took it, owned it, made his mouth yours. There was a hand sliding over your stomach, although you barely paid it notice until it was down the front of your boxers and wrapped around your erection, the contact making you moan. You had to stop yourself from bucking forward into the palm, as much as you needed it right then, letting him pull you free of your boxers and stroke you slowly, thumb swiping against your tip.

"Dirk, fuck, I-"

" _Fuck me_."

You quickly silence, swallowing hard. That wasn't a command; it was a whine, a plead, a beg.

_Fuck me, trust me, break me._

You swat his hand away from your erection, pushing yourself up away from him and spying the bottle of lube he'd left on his bedside table. You didn't even feel like yourself anymore, and you wondered if all sex did this to a person. Dragged them so far away from everything they thought they were in order to get the release they needed. You certainly didn't feel like John Egbert, Dave Strider's best friend and obedient son when you grabbed at Dirk's thighs to spread them further, sliding lube along your length. You didn't feel like the same teenager who'd been so scared of a motorbike earlier when you yanked Dirk's fingers away to press your tip slowly up into his entrance.

But you didn't care, you didn't care. You settled your body down over Dirk's own, felt him grasp against your shoulders desperately, releasing quiet noises into your ear as you buried yourself inside him. And he felt incredible. Tight and hot and fighting against the intrusion of you, his legs wrapping around your hips with ankles locking you in place.

There was something intoxicating about watching Dirk as you fucked him. At first he was tense and full of quiet, soft noises, adjusting to your slow rolls of hips, his nails digging in against the back of your shoulders, eyes closed. But as time went on, he seemed to unfold below you, panting, moaning, growling out commands. _Faster, harder, come on, break me._ His hands moved to tug at your hair, scratch against your back, eyes now fully open and intensely focused on you. If you snapped your hips forward hard enough, he'd reward you with a cry, lips parting and tongue piercing on show. It always made you move all the faster.

The music was no longer loud enough to distract from the bed creaking, the moans you both let spill freely, the sound of skin meeting, fast and rough. It was too hot, hair sticking to foreheads and skin flushed, and you couldn't stop panting or groaning or cursing under your breath. It was too much, _he_ was too much with his amber eyes and messy blond hair and the way he tightened his legs around you.

You'd been digging a set of fingernails into the underside of one of his thighs, but now you moved to grasp at his cock, pumping against him clumsily as your focus was scattered. It seemed to do the trick though, because he arches his body, chest pushing against your own. And he calls out a string of curses, painting the air red with his words and cries, eyes squeezing shut as he cums onto his own stomach. You can feel him tighten around you, his whole body shaking from his orgasm as he keeps clinging onto you for the last few thrusts you make inside him.

You finish with a moan of his surname, filling him with your cum, slowing steadily to ride it out. And then you collapse on top of him, exhausted and spent.

For a good minute, the two of you don't even move, besides the heavy rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the fast pace of his pulse where your face was buried in his neck. His music was still playing, but it seemed too fast and loud now, as though it was still on the edge of finishing and hadn't found the same release as you had.

You feel him shift beneath you first, just the tiniest of movements which brings you crashing into reality. Your hips tip back to pull out of him, hands pressing against the bed either side of Dirk to push yourself away, rolling to lie beside him instead. There was a stickiness on your stomach from where you'd laid in his cum, and your limbs ached in a dull, tired satisfaction. It felt like you'd never get over how it felt to finish inside him.

He wasn't looking at you when you dared to turn your head in his direction, his eyes focused on the ceiling and his arms flung above his head, one knee bent in a picture of nonchalance. He looked perfect to you, softened around the edges with his marked skin and messed hair, a slackness to his limbs which seemed so calm compared to the stiff, stoic robot of a man you were used to. You reach out to touch him, but he turns his head to send you a look before your fingers can make contact.

And then, as soon as he'd been yours just a moment before, he was closed off again. You couldn't read the face looking your way, the exposed eyes giving as little away as when he wore his shades. He stares for a few seconds without saying a word, and then he smiles, but it's more like a smirk in it's sincerity. You watch him sit up, making a small groan in discomfort before he swings his legs over the side of the bed, his back facing you.

"You should head back. I don't want Dave to know."

_Oh._

Something heavy hits you in the stomach and you can't find the words to say. He wanted you gone. A quick fuck. Of course.

You sit up slowly, swallowing hard and feeling embarrassment wash over you like a hot fire. Now you just felt dirty, shameful. You were a foolish, stupid kid messing with things he shouldn't have been. So you shuffle your way off the bed, bending to pull your boxers back on and grabbing your shirt from the floor. It hurts to head for the door, and you don't want to look back in case it makes you break. But you do anyways. He looks right at you, and his eyes soften for a second, expression twisting in too many different emotions to pinpoint. Apology, sadness, reluctance to let you leave. You think he might change his mind and ask you stay, but he doesn't.

He shakes his head a little, and drops his gaze, stony and tense and probably more robot than the one in your dreams. You couldn't trust this side of Dirk. This time when you reach for the door, you don't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to google dick piercings my life is spiraling out of control. anyways, dirk has two dydoe piercings for anyone wondering. i know so much about dick piercings now. so much.


	6. Chapter 6

#  ==> Be Dirk Strider 

_0 Months._

He sends you head over heels the moment you first lay eyes on him. Or rather, head over handlebars.

You catch a blur of tan skin and dark hair, bright green eyes widening in your direction before you were veering your bike quickly away, the front tire hitting the curb and jarring. The handlebar jerks to the side and the bike tips forward with just enough force to fling you out of the seat and over the front of the bike. You land heavy on the sidewalk, sprawled on your back and with vision spinning despite the solid steadiness of the concrete beneath you. _Ow._

"Holy gadzooks, that was quite the tumble... are you okay?"

His face fills your vision and for a good few seconds you lie there and blink up at him through your helmet. You watch the way his teeth chew against his lower lip in worry, dark brows pulled down over those green eyes you'd swerved to dodge on the road. And then the pain hits you.

"Holy _fuck_ ," you groan, pushing yourself up into a seated position and tugging off your helmet to let cool air rush against your skin.

"Oh lordy lord, I'm so sorry, chap. I was late for my first lecture and just ran right out onto the road without even looking. I'm a real numbnut sometimes."

He sounds different to anyone else you'd ever heard, and it's appealing, even through a pain hazed mind. It takes a lot to focus your attention back on checking each of your limbs for lasting damage, finally settling with a shrug and a smirk in his direction.

"Ain't no harm done, a few bruises s'all."

"Gosh, I feel terrible all the same. Here let me help."

A hand darts down in your direction and you hesitate before accepting it, letting him pull you back to your feet with a warm, tight grip, his fingers a darker shade than your own skin. It's embarrassing how much the contact seems to get to you. You decide it's easier to focus on your bike lying by the side of the road instead of catching those dangerous green eyes again, crouching down by it and giving a sigh of relief as you saw no real damage.

"Don't feel bad. I'm sorry too for almost killing you before I could even get your name."

You watch him turn a little less tense, a heavy sigh pushing past his teeth before his lips tip into a grin which makes your chest feel tight. His smile seemed to light up his whole expression, even if the teeth were a little crooked and too big for his mouth. You don't think you'd ever seen a sight quite so endearing.

"It's Jake. Jake English."

"Jake." You taste the name on your tongue, the corners of your lips twitching up. "I'm Dirk Strider."

He moves to help you heave your bike back up onto it's wheels again, and for a second, his fingers brush over the back of your hand, only a thin layer of leather separating you. 

"It's nice to meet you Dirk, but I really must be dashing off to my class. You should probably get some ice for those fingers though, to stop them from swelling." He nods down to where one of your hands had scraped against the concrete, the fingers sore and a little bloody. You flex the digits unconsciously, managing to send him a small nod before he was babbling out some more rushed words. "But hey, I'm staying over in the student dorms, block three, apartment 2D... you'll come see me sometime, yeah? I wanna make sure you're okay!"

He was backing away, flashing another grin which made your stomach flip flop and you think you stutter out some agreement and goodbye, before he was rushing away again and you were left alone on the sidewalk watching him leave.

...

 

_2 Months._

As the needle goes through, you watch Jake turn pale, the slight change in his complexion still noticeable even through the tint of your shades. You would smile, but your lip was currently occupied by the large but gentle fingers of Equius as he fixed your new piercing in place. Unluckily for Jake, you had one more left to go before you both could leave the piercing parlor. You're not sure for whose sake he was clinging to your hand so tightly.

Afterwards, you both stand outside the shop window, the color gradually returning to his cheeks as he laughs in response to your mouth twisting in an attempt to adjust to the new pieces of metal.

"I bet they don't even hurt for you anymore, you have so many!"

"Nah, it still hurts to get them done, I guess I just know what to expect more these days."

"Does your mouth feel all numb?"

The corners of his eyes crease with his smile, and his hair was a little messier than usual from where his fingers had tugged against it in his attempts not to faint when you'd gained your second lip piercing. You suddenly long for his hand holding yours like he had done when you'd sat in the leather seat, you desperately want to be the one to mess his hair up in other ways. And you were probably the stupidest guy in the world to fuck up such a great friendship by stepping forward and pressing your lips up against his.

But it didn't stop you doing it all the same.

It's nothing special, a soft meeting of lips on the sidewalk which lasts no more than a second or two before you pull back again.

"Nah, I still felt that."

It's a miracle you don't sound like a nervous, rasping mess, and you quickly turn before your expression can break in front of him. Walking away quickly, you try to keep your gaze fixed ahead but you can't stop yourself from looking back. And he's stood where you left him, his fingers pressing against the lips you'd kissed. He catches your eye before you turn away again. He catches your eye and smiles.

...

 

_4 Months._

The sun was only just making it's presence known in the sky when you're woken by the sound of a sharp click and bang, followed by a soft curse in an all too familiar voice. It takes a second for you to blink the sleep from your eyes, and you slowly prop yourself up in bed by your elbows to look at the figure sat at the edge of your bed.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, his figure a dark shadow against the light beginning to spill through his open bedroom window, carrying an early morning chill which made the hairs of the back of your neck stand up. There was another click and you watch his shoulderblades move with the raising of his BB gun, aiming it towards the line of empty cans sat on the edge of his windowledge. His back straightens a little with the heavy breath he sucks in, and then there was another bang as he pulls the trigger, sending the plastic bullet directly towards it's target this time. It hits with a clang, sending the can over the egde of the window ledge to fall against the grass two floors down outside his dorm block.

You smile, pushing aside the bed sheets to crawl his way, feeling him jolt slightly in surprise as your arms snake around his middle.

"Dirk. I woke you, gosh, sorry."

He turns his head to look at you, his hair messy from sleep and certain acitivities from the night before, his smile a welcome sight to wake up to. He's beautiful and he's yours, yours, yours.

"Don't worry about it." You lean in and kiss him, right beneath his jaw where his skin was already marked from tongue and teeth. "You couldn't sleep?"

"I think my brain is still all scrambled with this different timezone, heh."

"Jake, it's been four months since you started college here. I think it's a little misguided to blame it on jet lag."

You give a low laugh, tipping your cheek against his shoulder to watch his profile in the orange light, his teeth working against his lower lip, eyes fixed on reloading his gun. There was something that was bothering him, something he wouldn't tell you no matter how much you asked. It had the smile wiping from your lips, something heavy pulling in your chest. You reach a hand up to guide his face in your direction again, and you kiss him.

You kiss him until the gun slips from his fingers to thud against the floor at the bottom of the bed, until you feel his hands reaching for you and until both of your breath is fast and short.

"I love you," you say against his lips.

And he hesitates. Just for a second. But it's a second longer than he usually takes to reply.

"I love you too."

...

 

_6 Months._

It wasn't raining, but it was windy, making it near impossible for your cigarette to light no matter how carefully you tried to cup the flame from your lighter. After several attempts, you give a sharp curse, throwing the unlit cigarette to the floor and stamping it out aggressively under a heavy boot until the paper broke and stray pieces of tobacco caught the breeze and blew away down the path.

You were sat on the curb outside the front of his dorm building, elbows resting on bent knees and fingers burying into your hair to tug against it hard. You'd fucked up. You were too stubborn, too selfish, you loved him too much. And now you'd fucked up.

You sit there for a long time, alone with your thoughts and a pack of cigarettes that wouldn't light. For the first time in a long time, you miss the clammy heat of Texas, and you have to tug your leather jacket tighter around you to keep out the cool wind which blew loud in your ears. You can understand why he would want to leave this place, it was stifling and predictable, it wasn't jungle, or desert, or ancient runes. It was lacking the adventure he craved, the adventure you couldn't provide no matter how much you tried.

But to drop out of college and just leave? How could he do that when he knew you couldn't follow him? You needed this education, you needed to prove yourself worthy enough to look after Dave, you needed to stay when all he wanted was to leave.

The intercom makes a buzzing noise as you press the call button for Jake's apartment, and he answers after about a minute or so.

"Jake."

"Dirk, please, I said I needed some time to think."

"I've been out here for three hours." You can hear the sound of shifting through the speakers, but he doesn't hang up, and you hate the way his voice sounds hurt and frustrated towards you. "Jake... please. I know I maybe over reacted a bit, but... I was just surprised when you told me. In the end, all I want is for you to be happy, you know that right? I love you."

There was a pause. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Let me back in." You needed to touch him, hold him, kiss him, reassure him that you'd be there for him no matter what he chose, no matter how much you'd miss him if he went half way across the world.

You hear a shaky sigh through the crackly speakers of the intercom, and then he hangs up his phone and there was the buzzing noise of him opening the door for you once more.

...

 

_8 Months._

You stop trying after the seventh text in a row he fails to reply to, and you stop waiting for him after lectures after he stops showing up. You stop. You get the point. It wasn't this town that was driving him away, it was you.

Looking back, you can see it clear as day now. Because you'd been hopelessly in love with him and you'd flattered and showered him in affection, you'd kept him tied to the relationship with confessions of love to make him feel guilty, you'd given him no free time to himself. You'd been possessive, a bully, and you'd lost him through no fault but your own.

Lying in bed at night, you think about the way he'd smiled at you after you'd first kissed him, and how you could have counted his eyelashes when he lay curled up asleep next to you. The endless movies he'd made you watch, where you'd tugged him onto your lap and kissed his neck until he complained you weren't paying attention. The leaves you'd plucked from his hair after he'd climbed a tree to rescue a cat from the top branches, his knees scuffed and eyes as bright as summer meadows. The taste of blood on your lips and excitement in your quickened pulse as you wrestled and fought with him like a couple of children, until you tugged at his clothes and made him moan your name.

You miss him.

Not knowing how to get over him was like being stuck in a numbness, where you'd been lying still for too long and parts of you had fallen asleep. And, like pins and needles, when the numbness wears off, it's replaced with pain as sharp as knives. They stab you as you stand and wave him off at the airport, they slice you every time you catch a flash of your tattoo in mirror reflections, the gunshot through the heart. They make it difficult to move forward, even though you know that was the only way to make them stop.

You close yourself off, you make yourself strong. You take long bike rides by yourself and take solace from the company of friends and the smoke of your cigarettes. You heal, you get over him, and you swear you'll never again put anyone through what you put him through.

...

 

_10 Months._

His name was John Egbert, you'd always known that much. He was always at your apartment, with his loud laugh spilling out of Dave's doorway, and his occasional cake left on your kitchen table courtesy of his overpolite dad. You paid him no mind, like you did the rest of your little brother's best friends. They were just kids, and you were busy with your demanding mechanics work to have the time to get to know them.

One day he slams his hand down on the counter of your favorite parlor and demands to be given a piercing. And you take the time to _really_ look at him.

He was two years younger than you, but he wasn't a kid anymore. Taller than Dave, with a mop of half tamed dark hair and a set of teeth he was only just growing into, he looked painfully familiar. He was the same bundle of naive energy that Jake had been, but he wasn't Jake at all. Paler skin, wider shoulders, a cheekier smile, and brilliant blue hitting you hard every time his eyes searched for your own behind your shades. There was something about him that struck you hard, a flash of daring attitude on his side making you wonder if you were up to the challenge.

He was intelligent but occasionally lacking common sense, wary but still willing to take the risk of climbing onto the back of your bike. It had been so long since someone had clung to you so tightly like he had done, with his body pressed against your back and his hair a mess when he pulled the helmet off. He makes you laugh and keeps your interest, takes the time to sit with you and talk about things you never knew the two of you had in common. He isn't scared of you.

But you're terrified of him.

You don't want to feel anything for him that you can't control. You couldn't bear to drive him away like you'd done with Jake, to break him with your nasty habits and persistent personality. You splinter yourself in your attempts to switch off any interest towards him, one second under control and ignoring him, the next finding yourself pinning him against the kitchen counter with the full intent to kiss him. And he'd made no move to shove you back, looking nervous and expectant, mentioning your ex's name like it slipped so easily off the tongue. You didn't want another Jake though, you wanted John.

And you prayed for his sake that he didn't really want you too.

...

You don't know why you find yourself standing outside of Dave's bedroom door listening to your own heavy breathing, knowing that he was just on the other side. Thoughts swim in your head like the alcohol in your veins, and your heart hurts under the weight of so much you were trying to juggle, like eggs thrown in the air late at night in your kitchen.

You change your mind with a huff, turning to head back to your room alone and stopping at the sound of the bedroom door behind you clicking closed. And there he is, fighting back your mean comments with his own sharp tongue, grabbing at your vest to make you stumble forward at his will. He was so sick of your shit. Hell, you were so sick of your shit, and you were drunk, and he looked so fuckable in just his shirt and boxers, bright blue eyes exposed and not backing down.

He tastes sweeter than you knew you did, his lips dragging you further into the kiss you couldn't get enough of. Your chest expands, and you open up to let him in, flooding with adoration for this ridiculous, dorky looking teen who sent shivers down your spine as he pushes you up against the wall to press close. You'd been craving intimacy, and he happily supplied in return for your own, landing his kisses and his touches against skin as hot as fire for him.

You want him to break you, make you feel something strong and real and unrestrained again. And you tell him to trust you, because you're so sure you won't hurt him like you hurt Jake.

And he believes every word you send his way, letting you run your hands over exposed skin, feed off his heat and the sucks and bites of his mouth. Even hazed by lust and drink, you don't miss that he seems inexperienced in bed, but he's fast to learn. And god, once he learns, he _owns_ it. He owns you. He makes you moan and pant and stretch for him, following your orders to make your body jolt against a creaking bed, legs tight around his hips.

He watches you all the while, groaning and panting with dark hair clinging to his forehead and his nails digging into your thighs. He was incredible, and he makes you cum so hard you see white behind your eyelids, clinging to him in your comedown and letting him finish inside you. He'd filled you, released you, brought you so high that the only way to go was down again.

After sex, it had always been you to reach for Jake first, to take him in your arms and pull him close to sleep. But this time it was John who reached across for _you_ and it hits you like a hard slap to the face. He cared about you. He wasn't just frustrated with you and needed to let off some steam, but he actually wanted to be there with you, and it was everything you wanted but everything that scared you all the same. You couldn't let yourself fall in love again.

So you shut down again, and you force yourself to see past the way he looked lying next to you in bed. His eyes tired, cheeks flushed and lips parted, the edges of a lovebite peeking out from under his jaw. You force yourself to turn away, wince as there is a painful reminder of what you've done shooting up your lower back, his cum still hot and sticky running against your thigh. You make him leave.

You were doing it save him. You were doing it to stop him from hurting.

But he still sent you a look of pained upset before walking out the door, catching the words in your throat, twisting your heart in a sharp wrench. And after the door closed and you were left alone again, you did something you hadn't done in months. Not since Jake left, not since you'd first had your heart broken. 

You lay down on top of the messy sheets, listening to the sound of Dave's door clicking shut further along the hall, and you cried.  



	7. Chapter 7

# ==> Be John Egbert

"Are you going to explain the cause of this avoidant behavior, John?"

Rose's voice cuts clear through the busy noise of the school cafeteria, and when you glance up to look across the table, she catches your eye over the top of the book she'd been reading. One brow arched over a meticulously lined eye, her gaze was curious and accusing, hard to escape from.

"Huh?"

Beside Rose, Jade gives a quiet laugh at your cluelessness, flicking a piece of lettuce from her fork in your direction, joining the conversation you didn't want to be having in the first place.

"You keep bailing out on our plans, you ass. What's up?"

You pick the lettuce from out of your hair with a frown, dropping your eyes back down to your own untouched sandwiches and giving a shrug. It had been two weeks now, of course your friends were going to notice a difference in you after so long. But still, you found yourself scrambling for an excuse, your mouth opening and closing before Rose was already cutting you off.

"I've noticed that you only ever seem to be busy when we plan to spend time at Dave's apartment. Could it be that you finally grew sick of the smell of leftover pizza that seems to seep from that place?"

Sat beside you, with one leg haphazardly hooked over the armrest of his plastic chair, Dave gives a small grunt, his attention still fixed on the game he was playing on his phone.

"Shut it Lalonde, it ain't that bad. Besides, he's just wettin' himself over seeing Dirk again after they fucked."

Your jaw drops. Across the table, there was a thud as Rose slammed her book shut, and Jade almost chokes on her mouthful of salad in a flurry of curses. 

"Dave!"

The reflection of his phone screen in his shades tilts as he looks up to you, his expression seeming slightly bored and expectant, meeting your own shocked one with a calm coolness. You're fairly sure that you'd turned beet red, the realization that he knew washing over you in waves of humiliation. Had Dirk told him? Had they both sat and laughed over how you acted in bed? _Oh god._

"Dude, c'mon, you woke up the next day with a hickey the size of Texas under ya jaw that you didn't have the night before. And I sure as hell didn't get _that_ clingy during the night. Besides, ever since then, you've both been acting weird as fuck and it's getting annoying as hell."

Wait. Dirk had been acting weird? 

Rose was leaning across the table by now, face lit up in a devilish curiosity to know more, and even Jade had completely abandoned her food in favor of gaping in your direction. You wished you could just give them some easy explanation, but quite honestly, you didn't even know what it was between you and Dirk yourself. So you turn your attention to Dave.

"You knew all this time and you never said anything?!"

"What was I supposed t'say?" He shrugs, thumbs tapping quickly against his phone before you reach out and snatch it from his grip. "Hey, I was on a new high score!"

"Dave, I fucked your god damn brother and you have nothing to say about that?"

"Save me the details, dude, jeez," he scrunches his nose a little before giving a huff, "Look, I guess I was a little surprised because y'know, didn't know you were into the dicks and-"

"I'm not!" Your eyebrows fly up and Dave's furrow down. Glancing across to Rose and Jade, they both look just as unimpressed. "Well... I mean, I didn't think I was. I like boobs!"

"Jesus, John," Jade drops her face into her hands and you give a pained expression out of want for an explanation that wouldn't come. Rose finally swoops in to save you, but you already feel like your drowning in embarrassment.

"John, you admit to sleeping with Dirk, which means you must harbor at least some form of bicuriosity if nothing else, which is totally fine. Quite frankly, what I'm more surprised about is the revelation that you were the more dominant one in bed."

"Well, I dunno because he was still pretty demandi-"

"Can we please," Dave cuts you off with a slam of his hand against the table, effectively shutting you all up and making the cutlery rattle against the surface, "Stop talking about my brother being fucked by Egbert's dick, for the love of god."

You all fall into a heavy silence, and Dave simply grabs his phone back to start playing his game again with a sigh. It starts to get a little painful not to say anything after a while, and you glance to each of them in turn before speaking, "Okay, fuck, I'm sorry I never told you guys but really, it was just... one night. He was drunk and I was frustrated at him for being an ass and it just lead to stuff, that's all. He doesn't want anything more from it, and I was just confused, or bicurious, or fucking whatever, and that's it."

You stand, grabbing your bag and shoving your untouched lunch back into it. All of a sudden, you really needed some time alone to think, and the cafeteria was too busy for your liking. You take one step before a hand grabbing at your jacket sleeve brings you to a stop, and you turn to look at Dave. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his phone lowered to look up at you.

"John. He hurt you, I get it. The guy's a massive asshole who has no idea how to handle humans, I would know, I've lived with the douchebag my whole damn life. But you haven't seen him the past two weeks... You don't get to see him drift about like a ghost, snapping at every little thing, wracked with guilt. I haven't seen him this bad since he broke up with Jake, dude." Dave's eyes meet your own behind the shades, and you have to look away in case he caught anything in your own gaze. "We ain't blind either, John. We can see that it wasn't 'just a fuck', so cut the shit and talk to him."

Something sharp twists in your chest, and you don't think you can bring yourself to look at any of your friends. You pull your jacket out of his grip carefully, shouldering your bag.

"I have to go."

And with that, you turn and leave the cafeteria before any of them could see exactly how much you cared.

...

The black bike sits where it usually did every time Dirk picked Dave up from school, you catch the glint of the late afternoon sun against the metal before you quickly direct your gaze downwards. The school bus was in the opposite direction anyways, your dad was baking brownies tonight, you wanted to go home, you weren't even going to look across to see if- Fuck, you looked across to him.

He doesn't notice you, in fact, his attention is very much fixed on his younger brother, his expression hard and annoyed as you try to pick out the fast words being snapped between the two of them on the sidewalk. They were arguing, that was obvious enough, Dave's shoulders pushed back to try and give himself more height against Dirk in his heavy biker boots. A helmet is shoved in Dave's direction, and he shoves it right back with a flurry of more words. You'd never seen them argue over anything bigger than what pizza toppings to choose, and it felt invasive to stand and watch all of a sudden. You turn, making for the bus.

"John!"

Dave. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He's beside you in seconds, the red helmet Dirk had been trying to make him wear now in his hands, held out in your direction. You almost laugh in his face, but his lips are set in a stern, thin line which makes you feel a drop of dread in your stomach instead. He wasn't going to let this go, stepping forward as you took a step back away, your eyes focused on the ground as you didn't dare to glance over to where you could _feel_ Dirk watching the two of you.

"Leave it, Dave."

"He really likes you. He's too fuckin' pussy to tell you though."

Now _that_ did make you laugh, a short, sharp noise through the nose as you look up to Dave's frustrated expression. Dirk Strider was scared of you? Right.

"I'm going home."

"John, fuck, no. He deserves to be happy, okay? And guess what, asshole, you're the only one who seems to be doing the trick for him lately... Doesn't he make you happy too?"

You stop, and for the first time in about a week, you take the time to look across to Dirk Strider. His exposed eyes study you from the roadside, everything about him a tense statue, a calm before the storm with a clenched jaw and fingers clinging to his own helmet tightly. You hate him for looking at you, his attention sending a shiver down your spine, a need to have more of it. More of him. You can't even contemplate a future without seeing the crinkle in his nose when he laughs again, or the lust hazed amber eyes after he'd shouted for you during sex. The smooth southern drawl, the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the leather jacket you'd pressed your cheek to, Dirk, Dirk, Dirk.

He looks away from you, his lips moving in a fast curse as his helmet is shoved down over blond hair. He was climbing onto his bike, starting up the engine to leave, to escape from you again.

You don't even recall snatching the helmet out of Dave's grip, but here it was in your hands, and the sound of sneakers hitting the school sidewalk is fast. Thud, thud, thud, heart hitting ribcage. You make a leap over the handrails of the school steps, take a shortcut over the small green and hear shouts of surprise as you practically leapfrog a student tying his shoelace in the way. The roar of the moving bike engine fills your ears, your breath ragged as you dip and dodge the after-bell crowds, cutting the corner to slip between two parked cars. And you were on the road, arms flung wide, eyes even wider as the approaching bike screeches to brake, veering to the side dangerously.

It narrowly misses crashing into a car, coming to a skidding halt by the curb, and you're still stood frozen in the middle of the road, contemplating the fact that you'd almost gotten yourself run down on purpose. Breath heavy and face panicked, you watch the angry Strider yank off his helmet to send you a glare and words spat like fire.

"Why the _fuck_ do you fuckers never look before you run out onto fuckin' roads?!"

"I looked! I did it on purpose!"

"You _what_ ?"

Your mouth was dry, voice too strained to give a reply. The anger on his face seemed to be melting away though, a more thoughtful expression taking it's place, his brow pulled down in confusion. Around you, people had stopped to observe the almost crash with peaked curiosity, and somewhere along the queue of traffic, a loud car horn demanded that you get out of the road immediately. You pay them no mind, gripping tight to Dave's helmet, swallowing hard and speaking quickly in Dirk's direction.

"Give me a ride."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the briefest of seconds, you see what Dave had been talking about. He was scared. It was obvious in the way his pupils darted across your face in jittery movements, the slight twitch of lips and sudden paleness of cheeks under scattered freckles. But he still sends you a quick nod, straightening up his front wheel before hiding behind his helmet again. You give a breathless grin, heart pounding as you pull on your own helmet, climbing quickly up onto the back of his bike.

He takes you a familiar route, and you take in a familiar warmth of body heat as you cling to him. The cars whizzing by didn't scare you anymore, and even when the bike bumped and jolted over the dirt track, you didn't try to shuffle your hips back again.

Makeout point hadn't changed since the first time you'd been brought there, which made sense. Why would the place change? It was just a flat hilltop, dusty and bare beside a few threadbare trees, the occasional rock to climb and admire the view of the town below. It wouldn't change like you had, since that time a few weeks ago where you'd sat and talked about tattoos and anime and the future like you had it all planned out. Now, you were used to the flicker of Dirk's lighter as he lit up a cigarette, and you didn't hesitate to follow this time as he quickly walked away from the bike without you.

He doesn't sit on the edge of the drop like last time, choosing a safer option of a wind beaten rock under one of the bare branched trees, his feet firmly planted on the floor as opposed to swinging gently over the edge of the world. He's doing a very good job of not looking at you, even though you stood directly in front of him, dark hair tickling the back of your neck where the slight breeze blew it forward into your face. It was so quiet here.

"Spit it out, Egbert."

He sounds annoyed and you can't help but flinch at the words. He notices, because you can see him tense for a second, and you're so fucking sick of this game you were both playing and both losing.

"Fine." You huff out through your nose. Why was it so terrifying just to _speak_ all of a sudden? "Firstly... do you always sleep with people and then demand they leave immediately afterwards? Because, fuck, that sure is a way to make someone feel wanted, Dirk. Got the real warm, fuzzy feelings for you when you kicked me out of your bedroom like a used piece of trash."

"I never do that."

"You did it with m-"

"You're different."

You flash him an offended look and he shoots it back with a persistent glare as if to stop you in your tracks. Fat chance of that happening though.

"Do you like me?" You ask, and the question seems to throw him off completely, his mouth gaping for words and his cigarette forgotten by his boot, burning down to nothing.

"What kind of question is that? I... of course I like you."

There's a slight skip of a heartbeat, a softening in your expression for the way his eyes were looking right at you, cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink. He was all metal, and black, and sharp jaw lines, but also so painfully vulnerable for you. It makes your words come out quieter than before, a little less accusing.

"But you can't be with me because... I'm not Jake, right?"

It's like you can see his heart wrenching right in front of you, and when he stands up, you take a step back quickly. You move away from storm about to break, your breath quick in your throat and hands shaking. Maybe you could run away now, find a different way home where you wouldn't have to see those pretty orange eyes begging you to understand ever again. 

"John, fuck... do you seriously think that I don't want you because you're not him?"

"You fucking said it yourself!" The breeze sends a shiver through you, and he takes a step closer again. You stand your ground this time. "You said I looked like him, then you tried to kiss me... what was I supposed to think?"

"Fuck, I just-" He cuts himself off, pushing a set of gloved fingers into his hair, tugging in frustration. He sighs heavily, looking away. "I don't want you to be Jake. I like you because you're _not_ him. I like _you_ ."

It hits you like a brick wall. Why couldn't he have said that from the start? Why did he have to be such a god damn asshole about all this? As crazy as it seemed, you had the overwhelming urge to hit him. You raise your hand, swipe it down. He catches your wrist, you grab the front of his shirt, his fingers slip around the back of your neck. You tense... and he kisses you.

You push forward into him instantly, bodies clashing together and hands desperately searching in overwhelming need for him. The back of his jacket bunches up in your fist, and your hair gives way to his fingers carding upwards to cup the back of your head. The hand that had gripped your wrist tightly lowers and loosens, digits forcing themselves into the gaps between your own, the leather of his gloves squeezing up against your palm. It felt incredible to hold his hand. Almost as incredible as it did kissing him.

He's more precise when sober, moulding his lips to your own in gentle presses and sucks, his breath coming in soft pants from his nose, heating your cheek, making you smile. He catches the grin against his own mouth, warm and soft, occasionally joined by the brush of cool metal. He melts the tension out of you, and you return the kindness back to him, squeezing back against his hand and sliding your hold to his shoulder to feel it slacken and relax under your touch.

You're close enough to feel his chest expand with his breathing, the fingers in your hair stroking slowly to brush against the shell of your ear. The kiss wasn't the same as the first time, where breathing was fast and there were teeth marking, bodies desperately grinding together. And this time when lips break contact, it wasn't drunken orders to be fucked being said. He breathes out slowly, he keeps your head close, the corner of your lips meeting his own again for a brief second kiss.

"You scare the shit out of me, but please don't go."

"I never intended to go anywhere in the first place. You made me leave," you say quietly, feeling his fingertips walk a gentle trail along the back of your neck. He could be very distracting when he set his mind to it. 

"I'm sorry." He sounds painfully sincere and it takes you by surprise. Apologizing didn't seem to suit him somehow, but the small smile that followed most definitely did. "If you'd let me, I'd like to keep you. Date you. Whatever you want to call it."

_Well, fuck._

A loud snort of a laugh erupts from your mouth and his face falls, giving an unimpressed huff as you tip your forehead against his shoulder in a fit of giggles. You can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you, and you tip your head to kiss up against his neck, suppressing your laugh with a slow trail along the stretch of skin until you reach his jaw and cheek. He turns his head then to make your lips meet his own, and it brings the right words to your tongue.

"Of course I'll date you, you stupid fuck. It took you damn long enough to ask, jeez."

"I didn't wanna get hu-"

"Oh, shut up, you big baby. I'm not gonna leave you."

He clicks his tongue, but there was a smile growing on his lips, and his hands move to wrap around your lower back, pulling you closer in a quick tug. You hug him back around his neck, bumping noses and stealing glances at his lips until he gets the point and kisses you again. You can't believe you once thought he was more robot than human, because right now he was pouring feelings like rain, and he was soft and warm under your lips.

"Hey," You break the kiss quickly, and he raises his eyebrows in question, "We totally just made out at makeout point."

"You're such a dweeb."

You start to protest but change your mind, huffing against his lips. He laughs, and he's all yours with his crinkly nose and freckled cheeks and his pretty, pierced smile. You can feel arms tighten around you, and he lifts your feet from the ground, ignoring your giggled protests as he carries you back towards his bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Sorry for taking so long, I'm back at uni now and it's really killing my time up. These boys are actual butts. Actual butts.


End file.
